


Showtime

by destinae



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M, holy shit why do i write this. w h y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinae/pseuds/destinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Alexander Hamilton systematically seduces the entire Hamilsquad and also Aaron Burr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_What time is it?_

_Showtime!_

 

    To the history books, Alexander Hamilton’s promiscuity is little more than a footnote. And rightly so. Throughout his life, he was very indiscriminate with his romantic pursuits, and while some could have easily written it off as an insatiable desire for physical satisfaction, the educated man would recognize it as much more. Alexander Hamilton was a politician. He was a politician who knew the best way to get what he wanted, and when he wanted.

    He knew that more than just the skin was exposed during sex. In sex, there was absolute nakedness, astute nudity that revealed the true desires and motivations of people. Maybe that was why Hamilton was always so quiet during sex. He knew that just like those he seduced, there was so much about him that could be let slip if he was touched just the right way. And oh, how often such was the case.

    Four times, he knew he wanted sex.

    Four times, he had different reasons.

    The fifth, he didn’t.

 

    So the story goes, that Alexander Hamilton, bastard/orphan/immigrant/scholar/war veteran systematically seduced all his best friends, and lived to tell the tale.

 

_Like I said:_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things get smutty.

_Showtime, Showtime, yo!_

 

    Alexander had the great pleasure of making John Laurens’s acquaintance when he was still quite young, having arrived from the Caribbean not a week previous to their meeting in a local tavern. The scene was set perfectly for their introduction: John was alone, and so was Alexander. It was late on a Friday night in the fall, and it was just cold enough that Hamilton had put on an extra jacket. After all, he wasn’t used to such cruel temperatures in his native home. The place was nearly empty, just as fate would have liked, so Alexander took the sociable route and sat next to the young John.

    The two of them were definitely too young to be drinking, but a silent agreement to withhold judgement meant they got three pints down before Alexander finally said something.

    “It’s improper to get drunk alone. Or in silence, as I’m sure you know.”

    John glanced at Alexander, a small smirk on his face. “I’m not alone.” He said, resting a hand on Alexander’s shoulders. “I’ve got a comrade in you, bar buddy.”

    Bar buddy. Alexander almost laughed. “You don’t know my name.” He responded, not realizing that John’s hand still rest on his shoulder. “Surely you’d like to know.”

    “You’ll always be known to me as bar buddy.”

    “My name is Alexander.” He replied, “Alexander Hamilton.”

    Even through his drunken stupor, John recognized the intimacy of the first-name introduction. His hand slipped from Alexander’s shoulder to his wrist. His smirk grew into a goofy smile.

 

_I’m John Laurens in the place to be,_

_Two pints of Sam Adams, but I’m working on three._

 

    “You can call me John.” The boy said, turning so that he faced Alexander. “John Laurens, actually.”

    “John Laurens.” Alexander repeated, rolling the r slightly, making no motion to move the other boy’s hand from his wrist. “Why are you here on such a pleasant evening?”

    John paused before brushing a loose hair from Alexander’s face. “Sorry.” He muttered, withdrawing both hands from Alexander’s contact, gripping the almost-empty pint as a way to busy his grip. “I, uh- I’m here because I have no better place to be.”

    “No better place to be than in a pub?” Alexander asked, leaning slightly towards John. “You must live in a dreadful position.”

    “Well-- Well, I suppose I must.”

    “Would you like to be put in a better one?”

    While the euphemism was not lost on John, he answered the question more literally. “I’ve found myself in the most unfortunate position that the views of my parents and myself diverge dramatically on the topic of the British occupation.”

    “They do?” Alexander knew very little about the British occupation in America. He’d considered it some kind of exercise of concern, a babysitting that was solely executed to ensure the safety of the colonies. Evidently, he’d been wrong.

    “Not only that, but they seem indifferent on the topic of slavery.”

    Now slavery, Alexander knew well. Having grown up in the Caribbean, he’d been at the waypoint for most slave trades to the south. He’d had to watch black men and women and boys and girls die on the ports of Providence. The thought made him nauseous. He took another sip of the beer, but it didn’t do much to help. “I can commend your political independence, my dear John.”

    “But neither of those issues bear a real problem to me. The problem I face is much more immediate.”

    “Then tell me.” Alexander insisted, resting a hand on John’s thigh.

    “I’m joining the military to fight the British.”

 

_Those Redcoats don’t bother with me_

_‘Cause I’mma pop-chicka-pop these cops ‘till I’m free._

 

    “When?”

    The word escaped Alexander’s mouth much faster than intended.

    “A few days.” John replied. “And I have yet to tell them.”

    “Oh.”

    “Alexander,” John said, “I really should get going. My parents will already be angered by my drinking.”

    “Let me walk you to the street, my friend.” Alexander insisted.

    “I certainly can’t stop you.”

    They walked (or attempted to, their drinking had already rendered the two a bit inebriated) to the door together, out onto the street where the evening glow left everything desaturated. Alexander looked at John, and found himself admiring how the dull moonlight landed on John’s face. He had a strange beauty that the lights of the bar hadn’t quite caught, a very gentle face and kind bearing that made Alexander stand close to him, despite not being cold at all.

    “John Laurens, you are too kind for a war.” Alexander muttered.

    “Alexander, being as kind as you may think I am, I cannot bear the cruelties that this world brings me. I am find with the torment of battle, so long as it promises peace for others.”

    A swelling sense of admiration (and lust, of course) grew in Alexander. “Your selflessness is endearing, my new friend. However, you are far too reckless for your own good.”

    “You are hardly the right person to preach to me about recklessness.” John replied. At this point, they were practically pressed against one another, faces so impossibly close. “You call me a friend, but barely know me.”

    “Then let me know you better, Laurens.” Alexander insisted, a drunken hand moving to rest on John’s shoulder. He seemed so much taller standing up. “Introduce yourself to me again, and leave out not a single torrid detail.”

    It was then that their lips brushed. It had been a mistake, a combination of the constant stirring that resulted from drunkenness and the own ambition of Alexander, who had long since decided that he was going to take John to bed with him. The sensation was so gentle, not nearly clumsy enough for a drunken thing. It provided Alexander with a strange clarity. “Come now, John. Let me know you.”

    So John kissed Alexander, wrapping his arms around the shorter boy’s waist, trying to pull him closer than he already stood. When their lips parted, he said, “I’m going to fight for freedom, Alexander. What do you fight for?” They kissed again.

    “I fight so that I will not be the only kid from the Caribbean to make it to this beautiful place.” Again, Alexander’s careful choice of words carried an almost erotic double meaning. “John, stay with me tonight. You will have trouble sleeping as it is.”

    While hooking with another man in the British-occupied colonies might not have been a good idea from an objective standpoint, the subjects of the affair had no quarrel with the thought. By the time they were back at the inn where Alexander was staying, they were already well on their way to forgetting all their worries for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to be fading to black for nearly every chapter. This is more of a study in relationships than anything else, but I 100% intend for the last chapter to be Smutty as Hell. Because I know you all are full of sin and are here for one reason.
> 
> New chapter soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I almost feel bad writing slash between Hamilton and Lafayette.
> 
> Almost.
> 
> I don't provide translations for the French because google translate exists. On that note, my French may be wrong in some parts because I didn't use google translate at all because I am too prideful for that. Enjoy.

_Oui oui mon amie, je m’appele Lafayette_

_the lancelot of the revolutionary set_

 

            The first time Alexander ever met Lafayette, he’d come across as almost forcefully suave. The man was taller than Alexander (which wasn’t too astonishing of a feat, really) and had the bearing of someone who was always willing to undress anyone he met. There was so much more to him than that, though. Lafayette was intelligent and brave, charismatic and charming, the perfect personality for someone trying to win not only the war, but the favor of the American public.

            After all, he WAS French.

            Alexander was introduced to Lafayette by Washington, who had formed as paternal a relationships with Lafayette as with Hamilton himself. And it made sense, Washington had always been the type to be romanced by eccentricities such as those that Lafayette and Alexander exemplified. So, they were acquainted with one another. The two were fast friends, bonding over being foreign people in a foreign land. Lafayette admired Alexander’s intelligence, and Alexander admired Lafayette’s resilience.

            In all honesty, Alexander hadn’t initially considered Lafayette someone he’d want to seduce. Not because Lafayette wasn’t gorgeous-- because he absolutely was-- but because he was simply too personable to be seduced.

            At least, until the two ended up in the military together.

 

_I came from afar just to say bonsoir_

_tell the king casse-toi_

 

            It was after Charleston. The two were bloody and battered and tired and frustrated, having lost more men than they’d ever dreamt and bearing more wounds than they’d ever desired. Alexander was reclined in the medical tent, a long cut on his leg stitched up and what felt like a mile worth of bandages covering his arms and otherwise bare chest. Alexander was on the edge of sleep when the tent’s flap opened, and in strutted Lafayette. He seemed considerably less battered than Alexander, the only sign of any wound being a small cut on his jaw and bruises all over his hands and what Alexander could see of his legs.

            “Alexandre, _mon aime_. Comment ça va?”

            Ah, their foreign tongue of French. It had been another point that Alexander and Lafayette had bonded over. Having grown up in the Caribbean, Alexander had been raised to be completely fluent in both French and English. While the two often conversed in the latter, they tended to prefer the premier during their more intimate moments, or when the two feared an unwelcome intruder.

            “ _Trés fatigue. L'infirmière etait trop amical, et presque intime dans sa maniérismes._ ”

            Lafayette chuckled at this. He strolled over to where Alexander lay, taking a seat on the floor beside him. “ _Je suis content de tu es vivant_ _._ ” He said, running a hand over Alexander’s bandages. “ _J e t'adore, Alexandre, comme une frère chere. Perdre toi..._ ” he fell silent, hand lingering over the stitches on Alexander’s thigh.

            At this, Alexander let out a deep sigh, maybe in appreciation, or maybe in awe of Lafayette’s almost uncharacteristic affection. He took Lafayette’s hand in his own. “ _Lafayette, tu es le seulement personne qui j’ai préoccupe sur._ ”

            It was then that Alexander reached up with his free hand, wincing as the stitches resisted his movement, and pulled Lafayette into a kiss.

 

_who is the best? c’est moi!_

 

            “Alexandre--” Lafayette whispered the name into Alexander’s lips almost like a prayer, fingers intertwining with Alexander’s.

            Alexander shushed him, kissing him again, allowing his injured arm to fall back onto the thin mattress as Lafayette cautiously moved to straddle him. Their kisses were not as lustful as their actions, though. In fact, it was more of a slow and lazy movement, each kiss like a secret shared between the two of them. Alexander let go of Lafayette’s hand in order to run his fingers through the other man’s hair, a gentle caressing motion that pulled Lafayette even closer than before.

            And then Lafayette pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Alexander’s. “ _Mon amour,_ ” Lafayette breathed, the careful play on words causing curiosity (as well as a few other things) to swell within Alexander. Lafayette had always been the closest thing Alexander had to an intellectual equal. He was charismatic and sweet, and was as good with wordplay as Alexander himself. “ _Voulez-vous faire l'amour, ma petit Alexandre?_ ” He asked as he planted another barely-kiss against Alexander’s lips.

            The honesty of Lafayette’s speech might have made Alexander blush if not for the blood loss. “ _Oui ._ ” Alexander muttered as his hand moved from Lafayette’s down to the small of his back, pressing their bodies together, and adding in a low voice, “A thousand times, yes.”

            And so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! This one is relatively shorter, especially compared to the chapter with John, but I can kinda justify it. 
> 
> I don't really ship romo Hamilton/Lafayette, so I felt a little weird writing them gettin all Freaky together. Like, I hadn't meant to fade to black as quickly but whatever.
> 
> Plus, the brevity of the encounter kind of leaves it open to interpretation that the only reason they hooked up was to let off steam. Whatever. 
> 
> I hope to post the next chapter on Tuesday, since I have a show tomorrow and y'all need to know that the likelihood of me getting anything done during the week is, like, nil.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoo!! I had quite a bit of fun writing these two. Turns out that two hot-headed, sex-starved patriots make for a very interesting dynamic.

_ Brrap! Brrap! I am Hercules Mulligan, _

_ Up in it, lovin’ it, _

 

It seemed almost obvious from the beginning of Alexander’s acquaintance with the eccentric and heated Hercules Mulligan that the two of them would inevitably gain a more intimate knowledge of one another. The two had met at King’s, where Hercules had been visiting Lafayette-- yes, the same Lafayette that Alexander would inevitably become just as intimate with. Alexander would learn that Mulligan and Lafayette knew each other because of a shared interest in fashion. Lafayette would frequent the tailor for which Mulligan worked, and the two had quickly formed a friendship. 

Hamilton ended up living with Mulligan.

It wasn’t either of their idea, though. It was on one evening when Mulligan took Alexander to his house, taking the opportunity to introduce the young Hamilton to the Mulligans. They were quickly charmed by the young man’s intellect and honesty, and before the dinner had ended, the family had extended the invitation to Alexander to stay in their house while he studied at King’s, instead of paying for housing on his own. And of course, Alexander took it.

This was about the time that Alexander learned more about Hercules than just his occupation. Sure, he was still the prodigious tailor’s apprentice who was far more talented than he was given credit for, but there was a further identity that was much more pressing to Alexander. 

Mulligan was an absolute harlot. Whatever time wasn’t spent toiling over a needle and thread was spent getting into anyone and everyone’s pants. Granted, Alexander didn’t have much room to complain. After all, if the reader can recall properly, he fucked John Laurens within his first week on the mainland. And, within a few years of graduating college and joining the military, he’d find himself in the same position with Lafayette. 

But he couldn’t help it. Neither could Mulligan, evidently.

Alexander had picked up a bit of a sixth sense when it came to predicting when Mulligan would have someone over. It was usually during the evenings when it was cold and he needed some way to keep warm. Usually, Mulligan was subtle, but this particular evening, Hamilton could hear it all.

He knew he should have taken up Eliza’s invitation to dinner with Angelica.

 

_ Yes I heard your mother said, _

_ “Come again!” _

 

Really, Alexander did his best to ignore the noise. First, he went on a long walk around the neighborhood, admiring the fine work of the houses in the area. They were gorgeous things that Alexander couldn’t help but feel envious for. They were constructed in such a sturdy way, built to last through anything. He admired that about them. Maybe in another life, he studied architecture and not law. But there was an architecture to law, and as Alexander returned to the Mulligan residence, he was reminded that there ought to be a law to prevent the architecture of a typical household from being disturbed by one’s roommate’s sexual pursuits.

They finished (for what had to be the third time according to Alexander’s count), and the house lapsed into an eerie silence. Alexander took up a chair in the large manor’s study and began scribbling down some musings on the relationship of man with his surroundings, when the sound of footsteps filled the hallway behind him. Filling? Jesus--- Alexander turned around.

Three women and-- a  _ MAN _ ? 

Alexander did a double take, watching as Mulligan trailed the quartet to the front of the house. He pretended to be busy, scribbling again on the paper until he was certain he’d heard the door close, and nearly flew to his feet, coat flying almost theatrically behind him as he met Mulligan at the door.

“Are you finished for the night?”

Mulligan glanced at a gorgeous grandfather clock and shrugged. “Certainly not, due mostly to the fact that the night isn’t even upon us yet.”

A groan. Alexander crossed his arms. “It’s depraved, Hercules. You are intelligent enough to find more civilized ways to deal with the inevitable stress of apprenticeship than having sex with multiple partners.”

“Would you rather I take out my frustrations on the horses, then?” Mulligan snapped.

 

_ Lock up your daughters and horses _

_ Of course, it’s hard to have intercourse _

_ Over four sets of corsets. _

 

“In all your desperation, I’m surprised you’ve yet to already.” 

“Alexander Hamilton, you are utterly insufferable.” 

A small smile on Alexander’s face. “I’ve suffered injuries worse than these.”

Hercules smirked. “Courtesy of your attempts at the same pursuits?”

It was then that Alexander realized that Hercules was absolutely giddy. It was a post-orgasmic thing. He had nothing to lose, and certainly couldn’t care less about what Alexander thought of his sexual endeavors. “No.” Alexander replied, “I prefer monogamous encounters.”

“Oh?” Hercules asked, taking an almost menacing step closer to Alexander, “And how bored does that leave you?”

“Not at all.” Alexander protested. “My sexual experiences need not be amplified to be satisfactory, though I imagine you cannot say the same.”

“Alexander Hamilton,” Hercules said, shoving him against the wall. “You have the bearing of a man that I would have gladly dueled if you had been born in any other position.”

“Do I?” Alexander asked, taking a step away from the wall, closer to Mulligan. He was ready to take the tailor down. “And since I am in this position, what would you like to do to me?”

It was then that the short, angry, Irish tailor shoved future treasury secretary Alexander Hamilton against the wall, kissing him. “It begins with this.” He said, fingers toying with Hamilton’s waistcoat. “Would you like to know more, mister Hamilton?”

Alexander, breathless and madly aroused by Mulligan’s forwardness, could do little more than pull Hercules into another kiss. “Absolutely.”

Thus, Hercules Mulligan to Alexander up to his bedroom and showed the young scholar exactly what he wanted to do to him.

 

_ No more sex, pour me another brew son. _

_ Let’s raise another more to the revolution! _

 

The sex left Alexander tired, breathless, and satisfied. Hercules, although a bit older, had experience on his side. He had made no ceremony of celebrating the aftermath, too. As soon as they had finished, the tailor had risen from the bed and gotten dressed.

“I have plans to rendezvous with Lafayette at the pub. Do you wish to join us?”

Alexander sat up, having been disturbed from the peaceful enjoyment he’d found in the soft satin of Hercules’s sheets. “What plans do you have with Lafayette?”

“Debriefing, primarily.” He said, buttoning up an intricate and flattering jacket. “I have some information that might be valuable to the patriot cause. Will you be joining me, Alexander?”

A brief hesitation. Alexander looked down at his lap, lips pursed in thought. It was the same pub where he’d met Laurens. He looked back up at Mulligan. “Yes.” He rose to his feet, and spared no time getting dressed.

“You should remind me to outfit you in something more elegant, Alexander.” Hercules said with a slight frown. 

“Maybe I’ll heed your counsel once I can afford the cost of accepting it.”

Hercules laughed, and the two of them left together to go speak to Lafayette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can bet your bottom dollar that I officially ship these two after this chapter. 
> 
> Fun fact, it's actually founded in historical fact that Hercules and Alexander lived together when Alexander was studying in college. I read it in this really cool obituary about Hercules Mulligan the other day. He was kind of a badass in general, though. ANYWAY.
> 
> I'm trying to get this fic over with as soon as possible, because I have started masterminding a 15 chapter short story about another ship of mine. Anyway, thanks to everyone who helped me with my French! 
> 
> Okay I'm really tired but I hope you all like this. I think it was cute, and my fade to black wasn't entirely awkward! Pretty ill, huh? As always, feel free to throw your comments and kudos at me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the final one. about damn time, right?

_Well, if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college:_

_Aaron Burr, give us a verse, drop some knowledge._

 

     By this point in Alexander’s young life, he’d embraced the fact that he possessed some sort of indescribable and indistinct charm that seemed to attract people to him. After he’d finished his trip to the bar with Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan, he’d parted ways with the trio and made his way out on the town on his own. The streets were cold and slicked with ice, so it went without saying that someone would end up falling that night.

     Now, Alexander knew Aaron Burr. Or rather, he knew of Aaron Burr. The name was hard to miss in the political circles of New York City. He was an affluent up-and-coming politician with quite some fame under his arm for his achievements in graduating from Princeton in a brief two years.

     Granted, this achievement was in reality quite controversial, but for Alexander, it was nothing short of admirable. In fact, Alexander perceived the prodigious soldier as so far above him that he wouldn’t have believed in a million years that this same man would end up in his presence. It was startling to say the least when Alexander saw the somewhat angry-looking Burr standing on the sidewalk, arms folded, tendrils of cold air escaping his mouth like almost-smoke.

     It was all Alexander could do not to run up to him. In fact, he might have if not for the ice that covered the ground that crunched beneath his feet. Instead, he approached the other man with a formal greeting.

     “Good evening, mister Burr.”

     The man nearly jumped into the street at the sound of his own name. Surely he wasn’t normally this mousy, he was a politician! Burr collected himself and nodded. “Good evening. Can I help you?”

     Alexander’s mouth gaped for a moment as he realized that, no, he couldn’t. “I simply wished to express my admiration for your achievements. Your brief time at Princeton College is admirable to say the very least.”

     Burr’s expression slipped into a small smirk. He’d heard this a million times before. “Thank you, sir. May I have your name?”

     “Hamilton.”

     “Hamilton? I’ve yet to meet a Hamilton in New York. Are you new in these parts of the city?”  
    “I came here from Charlestown, sir.”

     “Charlestown?”

     “In Nevis, sir.”

     “You’re an immigrant, mister Hamilton?”

     “Yes sir.”

     Burr seemed a bit amused by this. “How did you come to such opulence from a place like Nevis?”

     Alexander laughed nervously. “You ask quite a lot of me, mister Burr. It was a charitable act from my peers after a hurricane.”

    “Ah.”

    “Sir, would you mind if I were to ask you something?”

    “Only if I did not have an answer.”

    “Of course. Mister Burr, do you believe that America’s fight for freedom is just?”

 

_Good luck with, it you’re taking a stand,_

_You spit, I’m the shit, we’ll see where we land._

 

    The man looked like Alexander’s words had sent a bolt of lightning through his entire body. “You ask quite a lot of a near-stranger, mister Hamilton.”

    “Oh, of course.” Alexander replied. “I simply inquired because someone of such affluence and social standing as yourself holding patriot beliefs could be very promising for the colonies’ cause.”

 

_Burr, the revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?_

_If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?_

 

    “Do you support the revolution, then, mister Hamilton?” Burr asked.

    “Does the sun not shine?”

    “I suggest you be careful with whom you share such information with. It is dangerous to show disloyalty to the King.”

    “Is that not a part of the greater problem, mister Burr?”

    Burr uncrossed his arms and put one hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Your attempts to retrieve some opinion from my lips is about as effective as your people’s attempts to win this revolution.”

    Alexander found himself suddenly disillusioned with the prodigy. He frowned. “All fires start with a spark.”

    “And all blazes can be put out if suffocated. Young mister Hamilton, while I can commend your passion, your brash disposition cannot do you many favors. Listen to me, Hamilton, and heed my advice: try to utilize your mind at least twice as often as you make such swift use of your words.”

    “Are- are you asking me to shut up, mister Burr?”

    For the first time since they’d begun talking, Burr laughed. “No, Hamilton. I am simply stating that if you were to think about what you said half as often as you think you do, you would have used it twice as often as you truly do.”

    Alexander nodded. A carriage rolled up, and the glance Burr paid to it told Alexander that it was his. “Mister Burr, if it is not too brash of me, may I ask for some way to contact you?”

    “Some greater wisdom tells me that you would not accept no as an answer. Here, Hamilton. I will take you back to where you live and I will write down my address there.”

    Although he was a little confused as to why Burr had suddenly become so charitable, Alexander accepted the favor and climbed into the very expensive-looking carriage.

     The inside was lined with some fine fabric that was so expensive, Alexander didn’t even know what it was called. Alexander sat across from Burr, but the seats were situated so closely that their knees touched.

     “Where is it that you live, Hamilton?”

     “With the Mulligans, on-”

     “Oh, you board with the Mulligans?” Burr asked, a small smile on his face. “My slave knows Hercules’s own very well. Take us to where Cato lives, please.” He called to the carriage. Evidently, the boy driving the carriage got the command as it lurched forward and they made their way to the Mulligan residence.

     “Burr,” Alexander said, folding his hands in his lap, “I must thank you for this ride.”

     “It was only proper of me.” Burr said, his eyes roaming from Alexander’s face to examine his entire outfit. “After all, I would not be able to sleep at night knowing that I had left someone so young out in the unforgiving cold.”

     “I only wished to express my gratitude” Alexander insisted. “I apologize if I overstepped my bounds.”

     “Not at all.” Burr insisted.

     A nod. Alexander glanced out the window, and then back at Burr. “Sir?”

     “Yes?”

     “My name is Alexander. Alexander Hamilton.”

     Now, Alexander was well aware how informal, and almost insulting, it was to tell Burr his first name. It was as if he’d exposed his naked body to the other man. Then again, considering his own habits with his acquaintances, such a notion wasn’t too far-fetched.

     “Alexander.” Burr repeated, not breaking his gaze at Alexander’s young face. “Alexander Hamilton. Quite a name for a child from Nevis.”

     “Well- yes.” Alexander said, distracted greatly by the way his name sounded on Burr’s tongue. “It was my father’s, the surname. It was the only thing he ever gave me.”

     “Did he leave you, Alexander?” Burr asked.

     Alexander realized that Burr was leaning forward, as if to inspect for any guilty expression on his face. “Yes sir.” Alexander replied, unfolding his hands. “And my mother left me for Heaven not too long afterward.”

     “So you are an orphan as well? The cards are certainly stacked against you, Alexander Hamilton.” Burr said. Was it just Alexander’s perception, or was his voice lowered, tone much more intimate?

     “That’s the fortune in gambling, sir.” Alexander replied. “There’s always the chance to win.”

     “Do you think you could win, Alexander?”

     “I can certainly try.”     

     This was when Burr moved forward on his seat, closer to Alexander, one hand moved to rest on the young boy’s thigh. “Succeeding in your state would require you to break the rules. Are you a rule-breaker, Alexander?”

     At this point, Alexander couldn’t help but recognize that he was undeniably aroused. How could that be? The two were doing little more than discussing his disprivileges, the things in Alexander’s horrible past that tried to stop him from having a less horrible future. Was it Burr’s bearing? How he seemed to hold the entire carriage hostage to his will, the ambiguity of his morality only proving to be intriguing to Alexander, who’d only ever been sure of his beliefs.

     It was then, in the pause where Alexander hesitated, that Burr took Alexander’s hand in his own and placed it on his thigh. “I-I’m sorry, sir?”

     “Are you willing to make sacrifices to win, young mister Hamilton?” Burr asked, sliding Alexander’s hand closer and closer to his crotch.

     For just a moment, a thought numbly passed through Alexander’s mind: this wasn’t his first time doing this. Aaron Burr had likely seduced men and women alike in this way, drawing them in with his mystery and seducing them with his words. How could someone who seemed so insecure bear such great eroticism within himself?

     He knew, however, that a strange respect had found its way into Burr’s words and actions. In fact, the other man had stopped moving Alexander’s hand altogether as he awaited a response, a consent to this. He knew that he could say no. How could he, though? Alexander felt so utterly encapsulated already by everything Burr was. He smelled simply fantastic, like pine and wood, and his features were nothing short of gorgeous.

     “Yes sir.” Alexander replied, voice nearly a whisper, as he slide his hand to Burr’s crotch and began unbuttoning the man’s breeches. Even before he unbuttoned them, though, Alexander could feel Burr’s erection. He tried not to focus on that, though. No, his main focus was unbuttoning Burr’s breeches.

     And then Alexander sunk to his knees. He fit almost perfectly between the two seats, knees bumping the wooden floorboards of the carriage. Alexander looked up at Burr, and saw that the other man was looking back at him. When their eyes met, Alexander reached into Burr’s breeches and wrapped his hand around the other man’s erection.

     As soon as he did, Burr blushed, and it bordered on comical how easily he reacted. Alexander gently pulled Burr’s straining erection from the breeches and stroked it once, finding himself pleasantly surprised at how well-endowed the politician was.

     He finally looked away from Burr’s face, licking a stripe up Burr’s cock from base to top, swirling his tongue gingerly around the head. This of course elicited a hardly-stifled moan from Burr, who quickly covered his own mouth with his hand. He said something, but it was muffled, so Alexander took Burr’s length into his mouth.

     Christ-- he couldn’t fit all of it in, fuck. Trying to hide his abominable gag reflex, Alexander began slowly bobbing his head, gripping the remainder of Burr’s cock in his hand and gently stroking what wouldn’t fit in his mouth. In response, Burr finally uncovered his mouth and moved both his hands to Alexander’s head, tangling them in the young man’s hair and gently pulling on his head.

     Again, Burr tried to say something, but all that came out was another moan. Alexander began to bob his head faster, stroking in rhythm with the movements of his head as he felt Burr’s hips buck into his face, threatening to suffocate him with his length.

     Fuck, Alexander would be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly aroused himself. He could feel his own cock hard between his legs, and with one hand still stroking Burr’s length, Alexander unclasped his own breeches, frantically reaching in as he began to stroke his own cock. The sound he made was nearly ungodly as he bobbed his head and timed the strokes on Burr’s length in time with his own.

* * *

     Burr was the first to climax. He came with a loud moan, head falling back onto the luxurious cloth of his carriage as Alexander swallowed every last drop of Burr’s cum. Even after the other man reached climax, however, Alexander continued stroking Burr’s cock, removing his mouth with a soft pop and listening as Burr continued to moan.

     “A-Alexander--”

     The tone was so raw, so low and guttural, that Alexander might as well have come just then and there. But he knew-- he knew he was close. And that was when Burr gently reached down and pulled Alexander’s hand from his cock, tucking it inside his breeches and saying,

     “You’re not satisfied, are you?”

     Considering the fact that he was still very much hard and horny, the answer was going to be a resounding no. However, Alexander didn’t have to say anything as Burr continued:

     “Sit, Alexander. I want to return the favor for you.”

     Slowly, Alexander rose from his kneeling position, sitting on the bench across from Burr and watching with wide eyes as the other man moved to sit next to him. It was then that Burr took Alexander’s cock in one hand and his face in the other, pulling him into an almost sinfully rough kiss as his fingers carefully stroked Alexander’s length.

     Alexander was dizzy with arousal by this point, and as Burr gently pushed his tongue into Alexander’s mouth, he could feel himself moving closer and closer to orgasm. Fuck, this really wasn’t the first time Burr had ever done this. Not with the way his hand gripped the back of Alexander’s neck, holding his head at the perfect angle, their mutual sounds of arousal flooding the small carriage.

     “I- I’m-” Alexander stammered between greedy kisses, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to last much longer, not in such a state. “B- Burr, I-”

     And then he came, orgasm flooding his body with a familiar warmth and relaxation.

     It was almost easy to forget that he had just soiled the upholstery in Aaron Burr’s carriage.

     They continued kissing as Burr took the liberty of tucking Alexander’s cock away, then using his second hand to grab Alexander by the waist and pull him onto his lap. Alexander wrapped his arms around Burr’s neck, grinding against the other man despite knowing full well that it would be a pointless effort to try and get hard immediately after the both of them had climaxed. Despite this, they humped like desperate schoolboys, doing everything they could to keep the orgasmic high that was already fleeing the system.

     Just then, the carriage came to a stop.

     Their kissing didn’t. No, if anything, it became more feverish, until finally Alexander pulled away.

     “It-- it was nice making your acquaintance, mister Burr, sir.”

     Alexander climbed off of the other man and buttoned his breeches, hoping his hair hadn’t been too terribly ruined in their sexual encounter and opening the carriage door. Just as he stepped down onto the ground, which his boots met with a soft crunch, Alexander heard the other man’s voice call his name once more.

     “Alexander,” He said, voice surprisingly calm considering what the two of them had just been through, “I would like for you to call me Aaron.”

     A pause. Alexander buttoned his coat.

     “Good evening, mister Burr.”

     And he closed the door, turning to face the Mulligan’s house and escaping the cold evening, Alexander had no idea what the future would hold for him and Burr.

 

     In fact, he knew nothing of the future at all.

 

     Maybe that was why he found it so easy to slip in and out of love, to hold such intimate relations with someone and let go of them like they were parchment slipping through his fingers. Maybe he ought to have considered himself cursed, that he could never commit to one partner, that for all his life, his promiscuity would follow him like a shadow. But to Alexander, it was simply second nature. He would always put on these little shows for those he saw fit, creating a concert of lust for the people who intrigued him. But at the end, he would always take a bow. He would take off his cocky makeup and daring costume and set aside his pride, just for those few innocent minutes where he was by himself, free of the parts of himself he felt he couldn’t control.

 

     That is, until it was showtime.

  
     Then, it was lights, and the performance started again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments. I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter, but I wanted the ending to be perfect.
> 
> Speaking of which, I guess I should make it clear that any of my readers who also read The Room Where It Happens might have noticed a trend in the endings of my works. They're not happy. I don't exactly believe in perfectly happy endings. In fact, this ending is objectively happy. Everyone got what they wanted and Alexander escaped unscathed. I simply believe it's really important to reflect on the fact that even people like Alexander Hamilton had their shortcomings.
> 
> I am very fond of this work, and hope that everyone who's read it has enjoyed it. It's hard to say goodbye to this one, but here we go. 
> 
> You can follow me on twitter @hercmullligan (with 3 l's because I'm full of sin).


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